


No matter what the faerie say, do not follow and do not sup

by vigilantejam



Series: little ones [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Blank Verse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fae Jopson!, Ficlet, Kissing, M/M, Picnics, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigilantejam/pseuds/vigilantejam
Summary: 500 word challenge! Expanded version! Prompt: 'a more appropriate hole'
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Series: little ones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026700
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19
Collections: Fingerbang #2





	No matter what the faerie say, do not follow and do not sup

**Author's Note:**

> 500 word challenge! Expanded version! Prompt: 'a more appropriate hole'

Presently he came upon a willow grove, the curtain branches dancing light, and beneath them on the bank what's this? A youth, a paddler dips his toes. The sergeant clears his throat, and the figure turns. No man or boy, then, though his skin is pale and smooth, his frame as light as a sunbeam. But his sea-storm eyes do strike a note of charm and warning in the sergeant's chest: _No matter what the faerie say, do not follow and do not sup_.

“Oh, it is you,” the faerie says, and turns back to the babbling brook.

“ _Oh me_ , but you know not me,” says the sergeant. “Nor I you.”

“Aye,” answers the faerie without look. “But it is not you I seek and therefore I can have no fortune or folly with you but to say _oh it is you_ , and now we both may part.”

“Who do you seek, then? Maybe I know him,” the sergeant says with so blunt and coarse a tongue.

The faerie sighs and stands. “You know not me and so I say I am the steward of the Scorned King. He is refused by his Queen, and more than once. He is beset by phantoms from his own mind that he conjures from dark shadows and regret. He wallows, a wretched lonesome thing, and in his isolation has sunk deep into a sadness. My King shall deal with demons and the devil ere he lose this madness. _Unless..._ such delights and entertainments can be brought to him that would divert. But alas there are none that satisfy, though I through wile and charm do tempt the fellows and ladies to his hallowed hole, he will not be lifted.”

The steward waves a long-fingered hand to indicate the sergeant, “But I see nothing here of interest and then so again, sir. Be thee away.”

“Am I not fair?” the sergeant asks, turning about to show his wares. “Am I not fine?”

The steward draws close with a wicked smile and trips his fingers along the sergeant's buttons.

“You _dress_ fine, it's true, though you are not so fair as fits my master's preference.” The steward's voice drops to a woodsmoke growl, “Far more rough and rugged.” And then once more aloof, “Though perhaps there is something to be said for variety. Come hither.”

“ _Come hither. Be away_ ,” the sergeant smirks. “Which is it to be?”

“Stay for just a taste,” the steward's fingers curl around his lapels. “To see if the King would enjoy your tongue.”

The sergeant knows not what flavour he imparts but the steward's kiss tastes of moss and spring morning. As they part he finds himself beguiled by the gossamer flutter of the steward's eyelashes, the tug of a dimple in his cheek, the supple line of his of his spine beneath the sergeant's hand.

“But I get ahead of myself,” the steward whispers, another kiss of breeze and breath across the sergeant's lips. “Would you care for some refreshment, before the afternoon is gone? So many hours you have walked this wood, and many more I do not doubt before you find a path or passage out. Or should you to my master's chamber, well. Even such a sound and strapping stranger should need sustenance to dance and jest with the nymphs and satyrs and the rest.”

He turns with a flourish and a flick of the wrist and with a capricious grin the steward conjures, below the branches of the willow tree, a picnic.

“Please,” he bows, one hand folded behind his back. “Please sit and enjoy the finest tea, the freshest trout, the sweetest trifles you will ever know.”

And so arranged on the blanket by the brook the sergeant takes his repast. He marvels at the delicate china cups, and breathes deep the rich aromas, and closes his eyes and hums happily as the first taste of buttered bun passes his lips.

Being enchanted by the faerie's feast, the sergeant hardly cares that the light is changed and the steward's features shifted. No longer blossom pink and hale, his cheeks are hollow, and his smile stretches over pointed teeth and pointed tongue. His hair once shining black in the dappled sun is slick and wet as kelp. But his enthralling eyes remain unchanged.

“Now,” the steward hisses, and pulls the sergeant to his feet. His kiss now is less of spring, but the sergeant finds himself hungry for the taste of wet leaves and shipwrecks.

The steward crooks a long dark finger to tuck his hair behind his ear, and pressed against the sergeant from toe to tip, he points to the passage opening in the willow tree. “Should I take you to my master? Or is there some other hole you're after?”

**Author's Note:**

> i guess this is what happens if you watch three different productions of _a midsummer night's dream_ multiple times in one week, and very much believe jopson to be a monster.
> 
> i was [viciously called out by terror_exe](https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1278194617247293440) midway through writing this. unbelievable. i've done your prompt, you horrible robot.
> 
> also i know some of you ice nerds are also d&d nerds so i [brewed up a thing](http://u.cubeupload.com/vigilantejam/thesteward.png).


End file.
